Tuesday, August 28, 2007

A mother raccoon and four teen raccoonstormented Paul's cat tonight.....luckilythere was glass separating them. Paul and Iwent eye-to-eye with them in the dark(the porch light had burned out) while Sally-the-cathissed and charged at the sliding glass door.They were very curious and unafraid -- of boththe cat and the humans. The very civilized Baguette Quartette(as seen below) accompanied our encounter with Mother Nature.

I mean, they weren't in the back yard with the crittersnor were they playing live in the house....but on Paul'sfancy-dancy stereo with the FABULOUS sound, they mayas well have been....a little French cafe music from the1920's should accompany all raccoon sightings,don't you think?

Tomato moon. Pocked plum moon.Burnished lychee moon. (There were lychee hullson my kitchen counter yesterday morning.)Nelson and I sat out on the front stepsand watched the last sliver of sunlight easefrom the lunar face. We shared a hand-stitchedblanket, remnant of one of N.'s high-schoolromances. For some reason the whisperedconversation turned to moral values,and their source in oneself. N. spoke of theprofound impact of the deaths he has experiencedin his lifetime. All this at 3am! Thank-you, universe, for this fortuitous mother/son/moon/earth/sun alignment!

Monday, August 27, 2007

It's 9pm, and I can lie in bed and seethe full -- nearly full? -- moon.A cool breeze drifts in; there is the scentof fire in the air.I may set my alarm for five hours henceso that I may see the eclipse at its zenith.A desire to blast Van Morrison's Moondancefrom my top-floor bedroom window.It feels like October.

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Blackberries are fading. Nelson and his friend Jennifervisited three sites today before gathering enough for apie, said they were mostly dried up, except of coursefor those hidden in the shade, guarded by spiders.The season turns.

Watched the season finale of Big Love tonight on HBO.Three woman -- er, wives -- all lying to each other and to their husband. And the husband with his own half-truthsand distortions. The 16-year-old son with his plans forpolygamy, dating identical twins. Ay yi yi!Why make life any more complicated than it already is?!

Saturday, August 25, 2007

Thank-you to everyone who posts a comment!It's nice to know that connections are beingmade in this virtual community. In a perfectworld, (or, at least in an alternate world) we'd see each other every day at the localbakery, or pub. (Or coffee shop, butcher,park, etc.) But this is what we have,and I like it!

Speaking of perfect worlds, P. and Iwent to Crossroads last night to hear How's Bayou.What a great scene! Granted, it is a mall, a smallone, but it's a vision of community that we rarelysee anymore. There's a smattering of local, independantrestaurants at the "Food Court," a small stage, andan assortment of tables and chairs. There were peopledancing, playing chess, teens playing Magic --all ages, Russians, East Indians, a groupof young adults with Downs Syndrome. Bellevue Public Library has a branch there, which is always bustling.The restaurants include Mexican, Vietnamese, Indian,Italian, Korean, American, Mediterranean. Decent foodat decent prices. I do not like malls, but I likethis scene! The music, as is to be expected fromHow's Bayou, was great. Ben Lang told me that they'vebeen together as a band for about thirty years.Karen on fiddle, Mike on bass, Dave on Concertina,Mooney on guitar, Jay on drums. Crossroads featuresa different band every Friday night -- I highlyrecommend this venue!

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

"I" before "E", etc.Niece.I used to know all this.Really! Although in fifth gradeSister Catherine Eucharia sentRandy Perkins to the diocese spelling beeinstead of me, because she thought a boyshould go.

Paul, Reilly and I dined last night at the homeof my sister Ann and her family. Gene had caughta five pound cutthroat trout in Clearwater(that's a big daddy!) which he grilled...lovelypale pink flesh, mild and tender. Ann rounded outthe feast with baked chicken, a hot pasta salad,corn-on-the-cob, and some lovely fluffy, thick-crustedhot buttered bread. We lingered at the table long past apple pie, telling some outrageous storiesfrom our (also long-past) youth, most notablywhere Ann said they (not me, thank-you!) usedto play with mercury whenever a thermometer broke.Rolled it around with their fingers, squished it,all sorts of good, clean wholesome fun. Yikes!We finished the evening listening to some selectionson the violin, performed by my nearly-fifteen-years-oldgrand-neice, Karisa. (Or is that great neice? I'm never quite sure,although she certainly is a great neice!)

This is on my refrigerator, from The Little Zen Calendar,dated September 28, 1998:"Each day should bepassed as though itwere our last" --Publilius Syrus(with the following note added at the bottom)"Happy birthday Mark, love, the Porters."

This year on September 28th the boys and Iare going to see/hear George Carlin at Benaroya.

Anya talks fauna, names every flowerBelle covets as we clop down the lane.I can see above fuschia hedgerowsto cows lolling beside gorse, to sheepnewly shorn, grazing the scruff. Nothing

moves faster than us. Belle startlesat a plastic grocery bag lofted in the breeze,ignores a tractor rumbling by. I won’t swimastride this horse as Anya has, accompaniedby seals. Nor will I canter under a solstice

moon at low tide. At fourteen I rodea borrowed horse bareback all one summer,pleasure sustained in the ripple of each flank.Now the saddle creaks beneath meas we detour down a path through nettles

and gnarled oaks. Beseiged by gnats,Belle’s tail swooshes, ears flick. We emerge in an abandoned pasture,the backbone of Croagh Patrick rising above us beyond Clew Bay. I won’t ride again

this June. Rainfall will surpass records,and I’ll fly home six thousand milesover ice and ocean, over North Americato a house in the city, a cravingfor meadowsweet on my tongue.

Monday, August 20, 2007

Yoga cancelled this morning an hour afterI roused myself from the blankets, wantingnothing but to stay in the valley of my bedand listen to this August rain, happinessfor pumpkin vines and roses and dahlias.But I was breakfasted and bathed and coffeedalready, and the cats were fed and snug,so -- ta-da -- I wrote a poem!It's always such a high, the best kind of high,that initial inspiration. Never wanting to be forced,the inspiration snags me by the neck,or pulls my hair, and I must follow.The new piece is set in Ireland,about being led on a horse by my Irish neighbor Anya.Middle-aged woman being led on a horse.Ha!

Went to see Class Act at ACT last night --one-man show starring John Aylwardabout the legendary Northwest poet and UW professor,Theodore Roethke. Amazing performance by Aylward. This was no sit-down-and-reminisce experience. Roethke wasbi-polar, and the highs and lows of this psychopathywere vigorously portrayed. Aylward romped about the stage,lit fires, pranced with a chair on his head,ripped pages from notebooks, danced cheek-to-cheekwith a striped bathrobe, invoked the spirit of his father,and sweat profusely. I was fortunate, in my universityschooling, to study with several of Roethke's former students --notably Nelson Bentley, Richard Hugo and David Wagoner. Aylward lovingly and accurately became the Roethke I knewfrom stories and his poetry, especially his notebooks,Straw For The Fire. (I lived and breathedSFTF in my early twenties; my paperback copyis now minus its cover, a right tatterdemalionof its former self.) Written by David Wagoner,Class Act is a must-see for anyoneinterested in the roots of the Seattle literary tradition.It closes August 26th.

Sunday, August 19, 2007

So much joy in the impromptu cake,mixed by hand, ready to consumehot and crumbly in about thirty minutes....Last night it was "One-Egg Cake"from an old Joy of Cooking.As I was at Paul's, which means somewhatlimited ingredients (okay, he's perfecteven if he doesn't bake), I found a jarof raspberries preserves in the cupboardwhich I swirled around in the batter.Most of the lovely berry bits sunkto the bottom of the pan during baking,but -- oh! Yum!(And yes, it is magic.)

Saturday, August 18, 2007

Paul and I saw Death At A Funeral today....very funny British farce. Well-paced, well-acted,a lot of hilarious scenes. Definitely recommended!

The Rainier Valley annual parade happened this morning,and Paul and I were about six minutes late, and I fearthat we missed the best of the drill teams. I just LOVEthose white clickety go-go boots, the pleated, flippyskirts, the call-and-response. We did manage to viewthe Baby Dangerettes -- great name! What I love aboutthis parade is that it's so low-key. When it firstbegan, about ten years ago, there would only bea handful of spectators scattered about. Todaywe were in the second row of fans!One of my favorites today was a group of Vespariders, all close to my age, revving and lookingnot-at-all tough. No floats -- alas! This is notThe Torchlight Parade. And it only lasts aboutthirty minutes. Feels very small town.After the parade, we wandered about Columbia City --a "must-see" is the Columbia City Bakerywhere the display cases look like museum exhibitsfrom The Museum of Fabulous Eating (which existsonly in my mind). Their Walnut Levain is aboutas good as it gets, their chocolate biscottiare sold by the bagful and are worth every cent.Their sandwiches are fresh, delicious, on amazingsoft French rolls. They put a certain G-Town bakeryto shame....

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Came home last night from Jazz Alleyand Nelson and his new (girl)friendhad picked blackberries -- enough for a pie.Last Christmas Reilly gave me THREEpyrex pie pans....no excuses!I believe there are few things on this planetbetter than homemade blackberry pie(add a pinch of cinnamon!) served warmwith a scoop of vanilla ice cream.The 'pinch of cinnamon' came from my sisterMary (thank-you, Mary!) who had broughta b-berry pie over the night Princess Disuccumbed. We were sitting on my back stepsin the dark and warm evening, feasting, when Mark came out and told us. So now blackberry pie with a pinchof cinnamon = Princess Dies.Princess Di B-Berry Pi.I don't have a Diana obsession!Really. I do have a pie obsession,though. Life is better with pie.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Reilly and I went to the Columbia City Farmer's Markettoday. Heirloom tomatoes, lemon cukes, all sortsof peppers, haricots verts at (yikes!) $8/pound.Local peaches are especially good this year;I haven't had a single mealy one. Can't believethat this is my first visit this year. The crowdwas nice there today -- more varied than I rememberfrom previous years, a good mix of ages, ethnicities.(I almost wrote eccentricities!) (Well,come to think of it, that is also true.) Real breadfrom Wild Wheat and Columbia City Bakery. The flowersare always exquisite and the best bargain in town --plumped-up bouquets starting at $5! At one booththe scent of the stargazer lilies was intoxicating.Fresh cheeses -- curds are very in. (Andvery addictive! Beware!)Reilly saw an herb calledepazote, which, he says, is the antidote to bean-gas.Golden beets, purple kohlrabi, orange romanesco.(One year I grew purple string beans, which turn greenwhen cooked!) Oh -- and purple potatoes, fingerlingpotatoes, Yukon golds, tiny reds. (Sounding a bitlike Ireland here.) Apricots, plums, berries, the first tart green apples. An abundance, a multitude of delights.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Why is it that often Monday is so typically Monday?Crazy early yoga today....how can one meditatewhen one isn't even properly awake yet?I was a bad yogi this morning....lists in my head:loads of laundry, champagne glasses to wash,paperwork to fill out & mail. And I would'vetraded that garudasana (eagle pose) for a nap.My body did not want to be a pretzel today.It wanted to be more like a slice of Wonder Bread.Limp, puffy, good-for-nothing.

Sunday, August 12, 2007

Should I forego yoga tomorrow at 8amand instead stay awake until 1amso I can take in the peak of thePerseid meteor showers? Or do both?Five, six years ago we would'vebeen at Priest Lake in Idahothis week, toasting N.'s birthdayby campfirelight. Listening to batsswooping between the tamaracks(whose cones burned purple flame)and there were more meteorsthan we could possibly count. I camped in a previous life;now all my gear lies idle, stackedin the basement. Still each yearthe meteors return. I am readingBoy in the World by Niall Williams: "...because, it was explained to me once,as the world is a ball and is turningand everything is in fact in motionall the time, doing nothing is not reallydoing nothing, it's allowing things to moveat their own pace." Just like my campingequipment: moving at its own pace.

8:27am. Still in bed. Making listsin my head. (Drag a comb across my head....)Breakfast, then the baking marathon begins.O splendid cloudless summer day!Nelson was two weeks late being bornand I remember that August as relentlesslyunending and hotter than a pie-fueled fire.On my actual due date, I picked blackberries(I was puffed and swollen and lumbery and wobbly)and then baked four pies and invited allthe neighbors in for a pie feast.One of my male neighbors (who shall gounnamed!) whispered in my ear,"I should have married a woman like you!"Me, nine months pregnant, in my sweaty,smoky, pie-kitchen. Now, nineteen yearshence, mercifully not gravid, it'sonce again the hour of the pie.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Anticipating Nelson's birthday tomorrow.As usual, I insisted on a simple mealand as usual, it has grown into a morecomplicated meal. Or, rather, the dessertshave multiplied from one white chocolate cakeinto one white chocolate cake, one peach pie,one apple pie, and possibly one blackberry pie.(There is one problem, though: who shallpick the berries?) I shall bake the piesand the cake, and Reilly shall make freshmozzarella for the caprese, and he'll roastthe corn. I'll marinate the Yukon goldpotatoes, chop the red onion and Italianparsley. Julie will slice the fruit.Paul will do the crossword puzzleand Tom will drink the pinot grigio.Nelson will blow out nineteen candles.

Thursday, August 9, 2007

I love this:

250 anthologies of poetry by WB Yeats were set free in Dublin on Monday, July 9th, 2007 by the National Library of Ireland. The books which were left on trains, buses, cafés, pubs, hotels and public spaces throughout the city were distinctively labelled with an invitation to savour the work of the great poet and a request to leave the book in another public place for someone else to enjoy.

Yeats Book Crossing was inspired by the concept of Book Crossing in other countries. It is hoped that the books, which have been specially purchased by the Library for this book crossing initiative, will be enjoyed by people of all ages, will promote a greater engagement with the poetry of WB Yeats and will lead to visits to the Library’s award winning exhibition Yeats: the life and works of William Butler Yeats.

Each of the books is marked with a unique code. Readers can report a sighting and log their comments here on the National Library’s website. This log will in turn become a record of the journey of each of the 250 books as they wander through public spaces in Ireland and abroad.

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

Last night was Seattle's "Night Out"and we had our annual neighborhood potluckdown at the dead-end of the street.....lotsof desserts, with an unintentional blackberrytheme. Yum! I especially loved Candy's b-berrycobbler. So many beloved neighbors missing now,gone forever -- Marilyn, Mr. Nelson, Dave Mehus,Pat & Mary, and, of course, Mark. And thosewho simply moved away -- Jamey, Ingrid, Tony G.,and Rod & Mary. I absolutely cannot imaginehaving raised my boys in a better placethan Brandon Street, where we have beena community in the old-fashioned sense.When I was a teenager, and communes werethe rage (or at least we thought they were!),I used to plan a life much like the oneI've ended up living these past twenty-some years.Well, there is no communal garden, or orchard,and the houses are a bit close together, but the sense of genuine neighborliness(sounding a bit Mr.Rogers-ish here!)is as good as anyone could desire.Last night Ben and Pam carried their fire pitdown to the street, and we sat in the waning lightas sparks flashed around us, and smoke scentedour hair and clothing. Some years a fire truckpaid a visit; once a local news team capturedour event for the 11pm broadcast. In years pastwe have enjoyed a talent show, a children'sart exhibit, and lots of live musicby our resident musicians.As this will be my last "Night Out"as an official resident, friendshave been asking me how I think it'sgoing to feel moving away from here,and my answer is,"I'm moving away from a life I love,and entering into a new one that I'm going to love just as much."Life doesn't get much better.

Tuesday, August 7, 2007

I've been on a baking binge and I am very happy.The marshmallows turned out spectacular:white puffy sugar-dusted edible cumulous clouds.(I know, that's a lot of adjectives, but thisisn't poetry.) The cupcakes are garnishedwith chocolate mint, and the tiny pink spheresare from Paris. I possess a collection of sprinkles from various countries:Italy, Ireland, France.

Monday, August 6, 2007

No work today. I mean, no work-for-pay today.THANK YOU BROKEN SANDBLASTER! I haven't had a day at home in too long. An ENTIRE day.There was yoga at 8:30 this morning, thenI made James Beard's "Basic Homestyle Bread,"made marshmallows, made green gazpacho (recipein a previous blog) and then did a very girliething: I got a pedicure at "Fashion Nails,"where everyone speaks Vietnamese but meand there was a Vietnamese disco showon the television. Now it's time to eatthe green gazpacho (with a drizzle ofolive oil and some crab in a romaine 'boat'.)It's very quiet in my house.

Once again avoided the invasion of warplanesby going to a Mariners/Red Sox game. Idyllic(is that spelled correctly?) Sunday afternoon,perfectly ambient temps, in the company of mytwo lovely sons, my delightful fiance, and hissweet son and girlfriend. The world felt right,felt like I had a complete family again.Reilly ever-hopeful for a fly-ball with his mitt!There are so many things about baseball to love --(let's not talk about the $$$$, please!)there are the infinite number of stats, the goofyorgan music, the precision of a double play,the 7th inning stretch, the peanuts in the shell(there would be a lot less cleanup post-gameif peanuts were only sold shelled!), the ice-creamsundaes sold in tiny upside-down batting helmets,the fact that the team managers (coaches) wearuniforms! They are so cute, out there lookinglike overgrown little-leaguers. This sport stillcontains a lot of the elements of play,something not found as often in, say, football.And there is the communal aspect of the fans,the striking-up of conversations with strangerssitting beside you, comparing stats or playersor stadiums. It's mostly good-natured, and civilised.I like it.

Saturday, August 4, 2007

I spent the night in Redmond, a respite from loud boats and even louder jets (who have been doing a fly-byevery morning this week around 7am -- bastards!)and the traffic of the hydroplane races, which take placeabout a mile from my house and I'VE NEVER BEENTO SEE THEM. And damn proud of it. The Blue Angelsfly so low that I can read the numbers on their underbellies.When they release their decorative plumes of smoke,an oily residue descends and settles on my garden.

"What is the meaning of life? That was all — a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years. The great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark. . . . "—Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse"Like other poets, I am often asked if I have a spiritual practice. Yes, writing is my spiritual practice."— Alicia Ostriker

"The trick, Gloria thought as she experienced near-whiplash at the revelation, was to keep the level of believing in magic constant."—Marylinn Kelly

"Everywhere I go I find a poet has been there before me."—Sigmund Freud

"...and following the wrong god home we may miss our star."—William Stafford

"I am in love with the world.""—Maurice Sendak

“I live my life in widening circles that reach out across the world.” —Rainier Maria Rilke"Writing means revealing oneself to excess."--Franz Kafka"There isn't enough of anything as long as we live. But at intervals a sweetness appears and, given a chance prevails. " --Raymond Carver"Someone I loved once gave mea box full of darkness.It took me years to understandthat this, too, was a gift. "--Mary Oliver"In the middle of the journey of our lifeI found myself in a dark wood,For I had lost the right path.And so we came forth, and once again beheld the stars." --Dante Alighieri